Petals on the River (26 page)

warm and sultry as any Maurice had given her.

Shemaine stumbled back in confusion, amazed that such a brief meeting of

lips could awaken so many strangely delectable stirrings within her

young woman's body.
 
With an odd quirk of a smile, Gage met her

astonished stare and then touched a finger to his brow in a casual

salute before he whirled and crossed the porch in swift, lengthy

strides.
 
His haste seemed to convey an indifference which, in contrast

to the wealth of emotions Shemaine was struggling to subdue, was enough

to scald not only her face but her pride as well.

She remembered only too well that Maurice had been prone to pursue her

kisses with passionate fervor and, more than once, had to be urged to

cool his ardor until after they were wed.
 
After the formality of their

engagement, he had implored her to give herself to him, promising to be

careful with her and equally discreet so no one else would know. But

with calm deliberation and a pragmatism that had equaled anything her

mother had ever displayed, Shemaine had convinced him that it would be

better for them to wait and enjoy the intimate delights of marriage on

their wedding night rather than ignore the consequences she might reap

if some fatal accident struck him down and she be found with child.

Gage left them with a wave of a hand and strode briskly down the lane

toward his workshop.
 
His men were already arriving on horseback, having

come from their homes by the narrow, winding road through the woods. For

most of the day, he and his employees would have to wrap and crate the

finished furniture in preparation for the trip to Williamsburg.
 
Though

no firm date had been set aside for the delivery, there was less chance

of damage being done to the pieces if they were packed now.
 
Hopefully,

before too much time elapsed, they would be making the trip upriver to

deliver and collect payment for the completed items.
 
Until then, the

old shipwright, Flannery Morgan, and his son, Gillian, would have to

work on the vessel by themselves for the limited supplies did not allow

enough progress to be made to warrant Gage's close supervision or

assistance.

Shortly after padding and wrapping the pieces, the five men began the

chore of crating them.
 
Gage stepped outside with Ramsey Tate, a tall,

broad-shouldered man of an age a year past two score, and began stacking

rough-sawn planks together to carry inside.
 
Their progress went

unhindered until Gage happened to glance toward the cabin.
 
Then he

slowly straightened.

Curious to see what had ensnared his employer's attention, Ramsey

followed the other's steadfast gaze until he spied a fiery-haired young

woman drawing water from the well.
 
He had no need for further en i

lightenment, for he could clearly see the reason for Gage's sudden

preoccupation.

"That yer new bondswoman?" Though Ramsey offered the conjecture in the

form of an inquiry, he could have saved his breath, for he already knew

the answer.

Gage slowly nodded in distraction.

Ramsey shaded his eyes with a hand in an effort to see the woman better.

"She looks mighty fetchin' from here."

"She is."

"She doesn't favor yer wife much, though, with all that red hair."

"Not a bit."

"Ye gonna keep her for a while?"

"As long as it takes."

Thoughtfully rolling a drooping end of his mustache between his fingers,

Ramsey cocked a bushy brow in wonder as he contemplated his friend.
 
"As

long as it takes for what?"

The slender, feminine figure disappeared inside the cabin, and beneath

the speculative stare of the older man, Gage returned his full attention

to hefting one end of the stacked boards.
 
When his cabinetmaker failed

to do likewise, he barked an impatient question. "What's the matter with

you, Ramsey?
 
Wake up!"

Ramsey snorted as he squatted down to obey.
 
"If'n ye ask me, I think

ye've been bitten."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"What do ye think?" Ramsey snapped back.
 
"That li'l bitty redhead

saunters out onto the porch, an' all of a sudden ye've lost yer bloomin'

mind.
 
I've never seen ye so wrought up before!
 
Ye never stopped ta

drool like a hungry hound when Roxanne came prancin' herself down here

lookin' for ye."

"No, and you never will either," Gage muttered.

"So, what are ye going' ta do bout her?"

Gage looked at the man as if he had taken leave of his senses. "Who?

Roxanne?"

Ramsey rolled his eyes in disbelief and almost shouted his reply. "No,

dammit!
 
The redhead!"

Gage cocked a brow sharply as he fixed his gaze upon his employee.

"I'll let you know that when I get good and ready," he rejoined gruffly.

"Until then, you hairy ol' nail-driver, mind your own business."

Ramsey squawked in feigned outrage.
 
"If'n ye don't mind me rufflin' yer

feathers a mite by remindin' ye, Mister Thornton, ye are me whole

bloomin' business!
 
Not one of us is worth our salt without ye!

An' if'n I've gots a mind ta worry bouts ye, I'm only lookin' out for me

own frazzled hide an' me family's."

Gage waved away his comments.
 
"You're not old enough to be my father,

so stop acting like it.
 
You've got enough sons to take care of as it is

without adding me to your litter."

"Well, think of me as yer friend, then," Ramsey suggested with a sudden

chortle.
 
"An' whilst I'm at it, ye seem ta be needin' a bit of advice.

Ye're a man what's in bad need of what only a woman can give ye, an' by

that lustin' look in yer eye, ye won't be happy just sniffin' round the

skirts of that li'l girlie, not when ye'd rather be twixt em."

Gage winced uncomfortably under the man's chiding.
 
The fact that Ramsey

had hit at the core of what was vexing him gave him cause to wonder just

how transparent he had become.
 
He had never been one to seek favors

from hired strumpets, and he had tried to dismiss hus growing need for a

woman by devoting himself entirely to his work.
 
The kiss he had given

Shemaine had surprised him, perhaps more than it had the girl, for it

had gone through him like a searing hot iron, instantly awakening his

senses to the hunger roiling within him. Rather than embarrass himself

by letting her see just how she had affected him, he had lit out like a

scalded dog.
 
Yet even now he outwardly disavowed his need for the logic

that Ramsey offered him.

"Your counsel, my dear friend, is about as basic as a bull in a breeding

pen, but I'm after something more than that."

Ramsey scoffed at his claims and cast a last wry glance toward the

cabin.
 
"Aye, I noticed."

Shemaine's talent for entertaining youngsters had never been realized

before this day in history.
 
In spite of her lack of experience with

children, she managed to win Andrew's trust and arouse his eager

curiosity with her gift of the bread man and her impromptu puppet.
 
He

was ready to make friends with her and willingly cooperated as she

bathed him in the washtub and shampooed his hair.
 
When she lathered up

her hands and blew soap bubbles into the air, the boy chortled heartily,

deriving great enjoyment from poking a finger at the ones that floated

near and seeing them pop and vanish in a flick of an eye.

Shemaine was in the process of dressing him in the master bedroom when

an insistent rapping came upon the front door of the cabin.
 
After

wrapping Andrew in a small blanket, she gathered him up in her arms and

hastened to open the portal.
 
A tall woman with harsh features and

straw-colored hair drawn back tightly in a severe knot behind her nape

stood at the threshold.
 
In response to Shemaine' s cautious nod of

greeting, the stranger managed a stiff smile.

"I'm Roxanne Corbin...." The gray eyes slipped downward, skimming over

the slender form and the painfully familiar frayed gown.
 
It was one

that Victoria Thornton had worn more than any other while working in the

garden or at some other untidy task which might have damaged her better

gowns.
 
To see a convict wearing the deceased woman's garb caused a

festering resentment to sink its claws into Roxanne's heart as she met

the curious green eyes.
 
"And you must be the bondswoman, Shemaine

O'Hearn."

Shemaine resettled Andrew in her arms and answered the other's

supposition with another careful nod.
 
"If you've come to see Mr.

Thornton, I believe he's working in his shop."

"Actually, I came to see you." There was a penetrating coldness in

Roxanne's glower that caused its recipient to shiver.
 
"To see just what

kind of nursemaid Gage managed to buy from a prison ship."

Shemaine's face grew warm at the jeering repugnance heavily imbued in

the other's tone.
 
She wished in good manner that she could send the

woman on her way and return to the bedroom with Andrew, for her weakened

arms were growing increasingly strained from his weight.
 
The risk of

dropping him made her anxious, but she could think of no gracious way of

inviting the visitor to leave.

Shemaine noticed, however, that for all of Mrs.
 
Pettycomb' s avowed

claims that Andrew was fond of Roxanne, he barely glanced at his former

nursemaid.
 
He seemed far more interested in poking a finger in the

rebellious wisps of hair that were wont to curl against her own temple.

Shemaine lifted Andrew higher in her grasp once again, summoning forth

the last vestiges of strength she could claim.
 
She was grateful when

Andrew wrapped both arms around her neck and, for added security, locked

his fingers in the cloth of her collar.